Francesca Van Til saw a battered old Ford pick-up truck coming up the driveway from her kitchen window. She walked out onto the expansive porch of the farmhouse as the driver of the truck stepped out on the gravel drive. “Afternoon, ma’am”, he greeted her. “My name’s Robert Kincaid. I understand you have some covered bridges hereabout. I’m on assignment to photograph them for National Geographic.”
“They’re not too hard to find,” Francesca replied. “Just keep heading west down the county road here, then make a left on Route 102. That’ll take you to the stream that all the bridges are on.”
Robert Kincaid stepped up onto the porch. “Well, that seems a little complicated there. I don’t suppose that you’d care to join me in my truck named Harry and show me the way?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” she demurred. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, seeing as I’m a married woman.”
“Appropriate? Doesn’t that imply absolute standards of right and wrong, and therefore a personal God who is the final authority behind all such standards?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“But wouldn’t the existence of God necessitate our submission to him?” Robert Kincaid tugged on the suspenders he wore attached to his belted, faded blue jeans. “I guess this is just part of my last-of-the-cowboys way, but I have to believe that we each must be our own final authority. Relying on some sort of God is just a way to avoid responsibility for taking charge of one’s own life and surroundings.”
“Is it? The Bible teaches that God holds us responsible for our actions. He has created the world, and we, as his creatures, owe him honor and obedience. If he did not hold us accountable, then there would be no such thing as hell. Eternal punishment is, literally, the final evidence that we are responsible for our choices in life.”
“Now hold on. You’re not simply arguing for the existence of God. You’re presupposing that the Bible is true and reveals God’s character and will.”
“Certainly, but after all, the Bible is the basis for everything I know about God. Since I hold this to be true, how can argue in any other way? To do so would be to deny that truth and make myself a hypocrite.”
“All right, I see your point.” Robert Kincaid fumbled around in his shirt’s breast pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“I supposed I’m used to it,” Francesca smiled. “Like all Presbyterian elders, my husband smokes a pipe.”
“Oh, you’re Presbyterians!” Robert Kincaid grimaced as he lit a cigarette. “No wonder you’re so dogmatic. But then how do you reconcile your Calvinism with the notion of man’s responsibility? If everything is predestined by God, how can he hold us accountable?”
“You’ve just lost me. A moment ago you were complaining because God is sovereign. Now you’re objecting because he holds us accountable. Does that mean you acknowledge God’s sovereign claim over our lives and are seeking to learn more about his character?”
“Of course not, since you haven’t yet proven the existence of God. We don’t need this antiquated concept of God, you and I. We are a breed apart; we create the world anew for ourselves.”
“Speak for yourself. I very much do need this antiquated concept of God.”
“Very well, I create the world anew for myself. With my camera, I do not just record objects, I manipulate light to impose my will on the landscape. I dominate it and make it my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. But are the landscapes and objects there before you arrive to photograph them?”
“Well, certainly. Barring natural disaster, I expect those covered bridges are sitting over the stream right now. What’s your point?”
“Simply that what you photograph has an objective existence which is not contingent on your own. While you may interpret the images of landscapes and covered bridges, you certainly do not create them. And if interpretation of images is the work you do, the question of presupposition must be dealt with. What determines the way in which you interpret images?”
“Why, I do. As I said earlier, I must be my own final authority. I am the peregrine, the falcon; I am every ship that ever sailed to sea.”
“That’s nice. So are you saying that no external reality dictates the form of your interpretations?”
“Exactly.”
“But what about the objects you interpret with your photographs? You have already admitted that they have an objective existence independent from your own. If they did not exist, you would have nothing to interpret. Thus, your interpretations must be dependent on an external reality. You cannot be your own final authority, since of necessity you work with forms over which you have no ultimate control. This is not true merely of your photographs, but of your entire life.”
“How can that be? You’re just playing word games.”
“Hardly. I use language as a tool, just as you use photography. But my point is that you exist in a world which you did not create. You react to it and interpret it, which is of course a valid response. You are not, however, its creator.”
“Who is? God?”
“Certainly. Unless you hold to radical subjectivism, you are left with the fact that you live in a world which you did not create. What is that world’s origin?”
“The world’s origin need not have been a personal God. Given sufficient time, the universe could have evolved to its current state by chance processes. Therefore, there are no absolute standards of morality which would constrain you from joining my in my truck named Harry. For example, I prefer eating only vegetables because that makes me feel cleaner, but I don’t think that’s a rule which everyone should have to follow. There is no God, so everything is relative.”
“But is everything personal?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve just posited that the world arose through blind chance. Fine. But what are the consequences of that? If everything is the result of chance, can anything have meaning?”
“Of course. It has the meaning which I assign to it.”
“But can that meaning have any ultimate significance? If standards are purely relative, as with your preference for vegetables, then they can be binding on no other person.”
“I’m glad you’re beginning to see this my way. So how about that ride?”
“You’ve just betrayed your presupposition again.”
“Huh? How?”
“Since you’ve arrived here, you’ve been attempting to convince me of your point of view. Apparently, you think your foundational beliefs are binding on everyone, not just yourself. You are denying the practical consequences of your proposition that everything is relative. If that were truly the case, then not only would your attempts to persuade me be meaningless, but even your self-created value system would be without significance. It’s only a facade which helps you avoid the futility of living in a random universe, of being an insignificant speck amidst a swirl of chaos.”
Robert Kincaid walked over to the porch rail. Leaning against it, he gazed out at the Iowa corn fields as the golden stalks bent gently in the breeze. Finally, he said, “So in order for personal beliefs to have any real meaning, they must be based upon an absolute, Creator God?”
“Exactly.”
Robert Kincaid dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out. Seeing Francesca’s frown, he brushed its remains off the porch with the toe of his boot. “From what you’re saying, I have a choice. I can accept that life is ultimately without meaning and therefore futile. However, that seems like a very difficult idea to live with. On the other hand, I could accept that I and the world have been created by a personal God, but that would mean he has the authority to set standards by which I must live. I’m not exactly comfortable with submitting my will to God. I would much prefer to be my own authority.”
Francesca sat on the wide porch swing. “I can understand your reaction. It’s common to all of humanity. In their natural state, no one wants to submit to God. However, you’ve already realized that becoming your own authority is a futile illusion. Consider also that if God did indeed create the world and you, then living in submission to his will is the only way to fulfill one’s purpose in the world. He created you to glorify himself. Thus, in striving to glorify him, you will become what you were created to be. Your life will have real meaning and significance. By no longer attempting to live for yourself, you will find real purpose.”
“But how can I do that?” Robert Kincaid asked with a choked voice. “I’ve spent my entire life worshiping myself and rebelling against God. How can I get right with him? How could someone as rebellious as me glorify God?”
Francesca smiled joyfully. “Because of what Jesus did for us on the cross, we sinners can be made right with God. I can see my husband coming back from the fields now. May we pray with you to ask God’s forgiveness?”
Robert Kincaid swallowed hard and nodded. Behind him, Francesca’s husband walked up the drive, his frame silhouetted by the late afternoon sun setting over the cornfields of Madison County.
“They’re not too hard to find,” Francesca replied. “Just keep heading west down the county road here, then make a left on Route 102. That’ll take you to the stream that all the bridges are on.”
Robert Kincaid stepped up onto the porch. “Well, that seems a little complicated there. I don’t suppose that you’d care to join me in my truck named Harry and show me the way?”
“Oh, no, I don’t think so,” she demurred. “That wouldn’t be appropriate, seeing as I’m a married woman.”
“Appropriate? Doesn’t that imply absolute standards of right and wrong, and therefore a personal God who is the final authority behind all such standards?”
“Yes, I suppose it does.”
“But wouldn’t the existence of God necessitate our submission to him?” Robert Kincaid tugged on the suspenders he wore attached to his belted, faded blue jeans. “I guess this is just part of my last-of-the-cowboys way, but I have to believe that we each must be our own final authority. Relying on some sort of God is just a way to avoid responsibility for taking charge of one’s own life and surroundings.”
“Is it? The Bible teaches that God holds us responsible for our actions. He has created the world, and we, as his creatures, owe him honor and obedience. If he did not hold us accountable, then there would be no such thing as hell. Eternal punishment is, literally, the final evidence that we are responsible for our choices in life.”
“Now hold on. You’re not simply arguing for the existence of God. You’re presupposing that the Bible is true and reveals God’s character and will.”
“Certainly, but after all, the Bible is the basis for everything I know about God. Since I hold this to be true, how can argue in any other way? To do so would be to deny that truth and make myself a hypocrite.”
“All right, I see your point.” Robert Kincaid fumbled around in his shirt’s breast pocket. “Do you mind if I smoke?”
“I supposed I’m used to it,” Francesca smiled. “Like all Presbyterian elders, my husband smokes a pipe.”
“Oh, you’re Presbyterians!” Robert Kincaid grimaced as he lit a cigarette. “No wonder you’re so dogmatic. But then how do you reconcile your Calvinism with the notion of man’s responsibility? If everything is predestined by God, how can he hold us accountable?”
“You’ve just lost me. A moment ago you were complaining because God is sovereign. Now you’re objecting because he holds us accountable. Does that mean you acknowledge God’s sovereign claim over our lives and are seeking to learn more about his character?”
“Of course not, since you haven’t yet proven the existence of God. We don’t need this antiquated concept of God, you and I. We are a breed apart; we create the world anew for ourselves.”
“Speak for yourself. I very much do need this antiquated concept of God.”
“Very well, I create the world anew for myself. With my camera, I do not just record objects, I manipulate light to impose my will on the landscape. I dominate it and make it my own.”
“Oh, I’m sure you do. But are the landscapes and objects there before you arrive to photograph them?”
“Well, certainly. Barring natural disaster, I expect those covered bridges are sitting over the stream right now. What’s your point?”
“Simply that what you photograph has an objective existence which is not contingent on your own. While you may interpret the images of landscapes and covered bridges, you certainly do not create them. And if interpretation of images is the work you do, the question of presupposition must be dealt with. What determines the way in which you interpret images?”
“Why, I do. As I said earlier, I must be my own final authority. I am the peregrine, the falcon; I am every ship that ever sailed to sea.”
“That’s nice. So are you saying that no external reality dictates the form of your interpretations?”
“Exactly.”
“But what about the objects you interpret with your photographs? You have already admitted that they have an objective existence independent from your own. If they did not exist, you would have nothing to interpret. Thus, your interpretations must be dependent on an external reality. You cannot be your own final authority, since of necessity you work with forms over which you have no ultimate control. This is not true merely of your photographs, but of your entire life.”
“How can that be? You’re just playing word games.”
“Hardly. I use language as a tool, just as you use photography. But my point is that you exist in a world which you did not create. You react to it and interpret it, which is of course a valid response. You are not, however, its creator.”
“Who is? God?”
“Certainly. Unless you hold to radical subjectivism, you are left with the fact that you live in a world which you did not create. What is that world’s origin?”
“The world’s origin need not have been a personal God. Given sufficient time, the universe could have evolved to its current state by chance processes. Therefore, there are no absolute standards of morality which would constrain you from joining my in my truck named Harry. For example, I prefer eating only vegetables because that makes me feel cleaner, but I don’t think that’s a rule which everyone should have to follow. There is no God, so everything is relative.”
“But is everything personal?”
“Excuse me?”
“You’ve just posited that the world arose through blind chance. Fine. But what are the consequences of that? If everything is the result of chance, can anything have meaning?”
“Of course. It has the meaning which I assign to it.”
“But can that meaning have any ultimate significance? If standards are purely relative, as with your preference for vegetables, then they can be binding on no other person.”
“I’m glad you’re beginning to see this my way. So how about that ride?”
“You’ve just betrayed your presupposition again.”
“Huh? How?”
“Since you’ve arrived here, you’ve been attempting to convince me of your point of view. Apparently, you think your foundational beliefs are binding on everyone, not just yourself. You are denying the practical consequences of your proposition that everything is relative. If that were truly the case, then not only would your attempts to persuade me be meaningless, but even your self-created value system would be without significance. It’s only a facade which helps you avoid the futility of living in a random universe, of being an insignificant speck amidst a swirl of chaos.”
Robert Kincaid walked over to the porch rail. Leaning against it, he gazed out at the Iowa corn fields as the golden stalks bent gently in the breeze. Finally, he said, “So in order for personal beliefs to have any real meaning, they must be based upon an absolute, Creator God?”
“Exactly.”
Robert Kincaid dropped his cigarette to the floor and crushed it out. Seeing Francesca’s frown, he brushed its remains off the porch with the toe of his boot. “From what you’re saying, I have a choice. I can accept that life is ultimately without meaning and therefore futile. However, that seems like a very difficult idea to live with. On the other hand, I could accept that I and the world have been created by a personal God, but that would mean he has the authority to set standards by which I must live. I’m not exactly comfortable with submitting my will to God. I would much prefer to be my own authority.”
Francesca sat on the wide porch swing. “I can understand your reaction. It’s common to all of humanity. In their natural state, no one wants to submit to God. However, you’ve already realized that becoming your own authority is a futile illusion. Consider also that if God did indeed create the world and you, then living in submission to his will is the only way to fulfill one’s purpose in the world. He created you to glorify himself. Thus, in striving to glorify him, you will become what you were created to be. Your life will have real meaning and significance. By no longer attempting to live for yourself, you will find real purpose.”
“But how can I do that?” Robert Kincaid asked with a choked voice. “I’ve spent my entire life worshiping myself and rebelling against God. How can I get right with him? How could someone as rebellious as me glorify God?”
Francesca smiled joyfully. “Because of what Jesus did for us on the cross, we sinners can be made right with God. I can see my husband coming back from the fields now. May we pray with you to ask God’s forgiveness?”
Robert Kincaid swallowed hard and nodded. Behind him, Francesca’s husband walked up the drive, his frame silhouetted by the late afternoon sun setting over the cornfields of Madison County.
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